


Stone

by WastingYourGum



Series: Sherlock Rare Pair Bingo [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 18:55:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1910004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WastingYourGum/pseuds/WastingYourGum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade makes a visit he's been putting off...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stone

**Author's Note:**

> For Sherlock Rarepair Bingo prompt "Stone" - clichéd as all hell but who's counting ;)
> 
> (Second section added because I forgot the 1000 word minimum requirement!)

The cracked green paint covering the small wooden gate was warm under Greg's hand. He opened it, stepped through and closed it behind him. His eyes squinted against the bright sunlight and he wished he hadn't left his sunglasses in the car.

He slipped off his suit jacket, folded it over his arm and took a deep breath. The air was lightly scented with the smell of freshly cut grass and apart from the faint buzz of insects and the occasional twitter and rustle of a small bird in the undergrowth, there was no other sound or movement as he made his way up the narrow path.

He'd avoided coming here for a long time. The funeral had been weeks ago but he'd stayed away from that. Emotions had still been running high. John would probably have punched him again if he'd shown up and Sherlock's parents deserved to bury their son in peace without one of the principal reasons for his fall showing up and causing a disturbance.

Only the people who hadn't let him down deserved to lower him for the last time.

He stood for a long time, looking at the solid slab of stone with its simple gold lettering, ignoring the headache building behind his eyes from the brightness and humidity of the day.

It was quiet, peaceful, idyllic. Certainly a million miles away from the noise and bustle of London he irrevocably associated with Sherlock.

 _Boring_ , a voice in his head supplied.

Several bunches of flowers were propped against the headstone, most fading almost to dust from the time of the funeral but also a few more recent. Simple bouquets, small thank-you notes from people who had known better than what the tabloids told them.

Somebody had left a hat; the infamous deerstalker. Almost against his will that brought a smile of remembrance to Greg 's face. Sherlock _hated_ those hats. Greg had teased him that, all things considered, it could have been worse and it was a good job he hadn't picked up a fez or something even more outrageous from that theatre.

He wondered what had happened to the one they'd given Sherlock after the Ricoletti case.

"You probably found some creative way to destroy it, didn't you?"

He swallowed hard and then quietly chuckled at the realisation he'd just addressed himself to a lump of stone.

"I miss you, you know, you bastard. Not just for the work, though God knows I have plenty I'd love you to help me with right now. I miss… I miss seeing you in full flight. You were beautiful when you got going. I never told you that - and I should have. You should have heard every day how spectacular you were."

"There were so many times I wanted to say something, especially after the divorce and all, but I was too scared. Scared of coming out to my colleagues, scared of you turning me down - it was just easier to keep quiet."

He crouched down and rested his hand on top of the marble slab. The stone was smooth and warm under his palm, where he'd expected it to be cold. If that wasn't a metaphor for the man buried under it, he didn't know what was.

"I don't know if you can hear me wherever you are, Sherlock, but I loved you. I hope you knew that. I'd give anything for just one more minute with you so I could tell you to your face and damn the consequences. I hope you can forgive an old coward his mistakes."

He trailed his finger down the upright of the K then wiped his nose across the back of his hand and stood up.

"Take care, son."

He patted the top of the stone, turned and walked away, not once looking back...

* * *

 

"Those things will kill you."

No. It couldn't be.

What was he thinking? Of _course_ it could. The git wouldn't let a little thing like being _dead_ get in the way of catching Greg sneaking a crafty fag.

"Ooh, you bastard."

He turned, eyes still adjusting to the darkness after the sudden flare of his lighter. Christ, it was. The coat, the stride, the smirk, everything.

"It's time to come back. You've been letting thing slide, Graham."

The correction was automatic - like muscle memory. " _Greg_."

"Greg," the apparition conceded - and that was what nearly made him doubt his own eyes. Sherlock - or Sherlock's ghost, whatever it was - looked almost contrite, an unfamiliar, though not entirely new expression. It was the one Greg had seen when Sherlock had been the one caught indulging his vices.

He was a bit scuffed at the edges as well. Split lip, bit of blood at his nostril.

Thin.

Hair like he'd been dragged through a hedge backwards.

And _beautiful_.

There was only one way to make sure he hadn't finally completely lost his marbles. Greg stepped up, threw his arms around Sherlock's shoulders and held on for dear, dear, unexpected and _glorious_ life.

Sherlock didn't move, except for a quirk of his facial muscles when Greg shifted to stop crushing his ear.

He continued to not move.

So did Greg. He couldn't. If he moved then so would time - but for as long as he stood there with his arms full of hope then nothing had to change.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Lestrade..."

Don't make me let go... not again...

"Lestrade..."

Just a minute more... Just one...

Softer. "Greg."

He moved back but only far enough to be able to see Sherlock's face. His hands slid from Sherlock's back to his shoulders. He had to say it. He'd begged for the chance and now here it was - and how often did that happen?

"Sherlock... I..."

Sherlock smiled.

"Yes, I know."

"Of course you do - probably always did, right?"

Sherlock nodded.

"God, I missed you." Greg let the lighter and cigarette in his hand fall to the floor. He took Sherlock's face in his hands instead.

"I love you, Sherlock."

Time to light a different flame...


End file.
